


Shards of Ice

by falindis



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: Aredhel lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Aredhel, Eöl still dies though, F/M, Fix-It, Gondolin, Manly Tears, Protective Turgon, Reunion Sex, Reunions, aredhel deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: "You were hit by Eöl’s poisoned dart", Turgon answered. "You are very ill. If there is anything you wish for, you need only ask.""Tyelkormo", Aredhel whispered. "I need to see Tyelkormo."A fix-it of sorts. What if Eöl's poisoned dart never killed Aredhel, and he could see Celegorm again? What if they had chance to say the things always left unsaid?(Of course, Turgon isn't happy about it. Nor is Maeglin. But it all works out, in the end.)
Relationships: Aredhel/Celegorm | Turcafinwë
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Shards of Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifearnocolors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifearnocolors/gifts).



Everything had happened so fast.

Aredhel’s unexpected return with the elven boy he called his son, Maeglin. Their pursuit by the dark elf Eöl, and the threats and violence that followed. Turgon had no time to react before Eöl had already pulled a javelin out of the folds of his cape, hurling it towards Maeglin. But Aredhel had acted swiftly, taking the blow in her son’s stead.

Eöl died later that day, doomed to his end at Turgon’s hand. But Aredhel did not. Instead she fell under a grave sickness that lasted for days, and all the while Maeglin never left his mother’s side. It took seven days and seven nights for her fever to subside, and even then, she was too weak to leave her bed. Fearing that this sickness might claim her life, Turgon decided to grant her one dying wish.

Aredhel barely could keep her eyes open as Turgon came to her room, where Maeglin had been sitting, crying. Turgon ordered the boy to Idril, who he seemed to have grown fond of, until Turgon was alone with his sister. He kneeled by her bedside and took her hands into his. They had always been so pale, like their father’s, nothing like the warm brown complexion Turgon and his brothers had inherited from their mother. And cold. Like her blood still carried shards of the Helcaraxë within.

“Turno?” Aredhel croaked, so quietly Turgon had to press his ear to her lips. “What… happened?”

“You were hit by Eöl’s poisoned dart”, Turgon answered, his voice shaking with rage. “You are very ill. I…” Turgon’s voice cracked and broke, “I fear for your life, Írissë.”

“I will be fine”, Aredhel smiled weakly. “As long as you are by my side.”

Her gaze then scanned the room, went to the door.

“Maeglin? My son? Is he—”

“He is alive. Gondolin has treated him well.”

“Good.” The smile slipped off Aredhel’s face. “Eöl?”

“Dead.” _As he deserves._

Aredhel opened her mouth as if to say something, but ended up choosing otherwise. All that escaped her mouth was a quiet hum.

“We are doing the best we can to help you”, Turgon continued. “If there is anything you wish for, you need only ask.”

Aredhel thought of it for a while.

“Tyelkormo”, she finally whispered. “I need to see Tyelkormo.”

 _Anything but that._ “That is not possible.”

“You allowed Maeglin in because he was your flesh and blood. Is Tyelko not that to you too?”

“You know very well that the reason is not that.”

Aredhel might have been in a weakened state, but the hold of her gaze was still surprisingly strong. Turgon had never been able to say no to those eyes. There was too much of their father in them.

“Please, Turno. It is all that I ask.”

Turgon squeezed Aredhel’s hands tighter. A part of him could not still comprehend that she was truly here. She had been gone for so long – for a while Turgon had thought her gone forever. And now that she had returned, Turgon truly understood how losing her would feel.

Turgon forced a smile on his face. “Anything for you, sister.”

*

_Írissë is alive._

The words had stared at Celegorm from the paper like a cruel jest, an insult. For they could not be true. Everyone knew Aredhel had died years ago, disappeared into the forests of Nan Elmoth. And now Turgon had the gall to claim otherwise.

Celegorm would never have believed him it if weren’t for Curufin. Seven days ago, he had crossed paths with the dark elf Eöl, who had claimed to be in pursuit of his wife and son. There had been no word of him since, and by all accounts, Celegorm thought of him dead.

Dead, like Aredhel should have been.

_She has requested your presence. For her sake, I hope that you will honor her request. I do not know how long she will live._

Although Celegorm could not stand their prude of a cousin, he had no choice but to accept. If there was even the smallest chance that Aredhel was alive, he had to take it. Lest he regret it for the remainder of his life.

So he took his horse and rode to the outskirts of Gondolin, where a party of king Turgon’s men rode to meet him. There they put a hood upon his head and commanded him to follow suit, and so he traveled the remainder of his miles in darkness. It was not until he was well within the city’s walls that he was helped off his horse, and then taken to the king. Celegorm frowned as the cold, unfamiliar stone of the hidden city rubbed against his knees.

“Ah”, he grunted, “why is it that you treat me, your kinsman, as if you would a murderer or a thief? I would look upon your face, cousin.”

Turgon’s voice was as flat and dull as Celegorm had remembered. “You think too highly of yourself, Celegorm of the house of Fëanor. A murderer and a thief you are, kinslayer, and you should be considered honored to be admitted into the Hidden City.” There was a sullen pause. “Remove his hood.”

Celegorm blinked. His eyes took time adjusting to the sudden brightness, taking in the scenery of the throne room around him. Stone upon stone, harsh and gray like his cousin’s eyes. He sat upon his throne, clad in blue and silver, a long sapphire-adorned staff in hand. His fair daughter, Idril, sat on his left side, her golden hair almost touching her bare feet. But Celegorm’s gaze did not remain on them for long. They searched for another.

“Where is she?” he asked, perhaps too harshly. “I need to see her. Now.”

“That is no way to talk to a king.”

“You are no king of mine”, Celegorm spat. “Where is Írissë? Or is it that you have tricked me here with false promises, with the intent of my humiliation?”

“Silence. Would you truly think that I would let you inside my kingdom only to humiliate you? You do not know me at all, cousin. You are here for one reason only – because my sister asked for it. I will take you to her, once she awakens. You shall see her, and then you shall leave. Do you understand?”

Celegorm gritted his teeth. He wanted nothing more to spit upon his cousin’s self-righteous face, but he restrained himself. For Aredhel.

“Very well”, he gritted. “I understand.”

“Good. I understand that your worry is great, but you must remember your place. You are not the only one here who cares for her.” Turgon gestured onto his right, where a young elven lad was standing, half-concealed in the shadows. “This is her son.”

The boy stepped forwards.

At first glance, he was not his mother’s son. He did not have his mother’s light skin or curly hair, nor her strong and tall stature and blue eyes. Instead his skin was dark and his hair straight, his body and face short and thin, with sharp, sullen eyes that were of two different colors – one blue, one brown.

“Greetings, my lord”, he spoke, getting down on one knee. “My name is Maeglin.”

Celegorm studied him. Perhaps there was some part of Aredhel in the cadence of his voice, the curve of his chin. But most of it was someone else. _Eöl,_ Celegorm recalled bitterly, that dark elf that resided in Nan Elmoth.

Perhaps it was easier not seeing Aredhel in his features. It made it easier for Celegorm to pretend. To pretend that Aredhel had not rejected him and wedded another. That this was simply someone else’s child, a stranger’s.

“Get up”, Turgon ordered the boy. “You need not bow to him.”

“I am sorry, uncle.”

Turgon smiled at him warmly. It stirred a spark of ire within Celegorm, for Turgon treated this boy like kin. Like closer kin than Celegorm, the way he would treat his own child. But then his attention shifted back to Celegorm, and he felt like sinking in an icy pool.

“Írissë is still asleep”, Turgon spoke flatly. “My servants will show you to your quarters. I will summon you once it is time. And not a moment sooner.”

Turgon’s staff cracked upon stone, ending their conversation.

Even as Celegorm turned his back away, he could feel the cold of his gaze in his veins.

*

Maeglin should have loved Gondolin.

After all, he had grown up listening to the tales. Of its shining white walls and towers. Of blue fountains so clear that you could see all the way down to the bottom. Of lush, green gardens that could have put Yavanna herself to shame. Not to mention its inhabitants – great craftsmen and heroes of old, like golden-haired Glorfindel and fair-voiced Ecthelion, whose music could bring any man to tears.

His mother had not lied. Gondolin was beautiful – but not the way a smile was beautiful, or a warm hearth. This was the beauty of night or a cold wintry day. It pleased the eye, but was cold to the touch. Gondolin was magnificent, Gondolin was legendary. But after the allure of novelty had passed, it was after all, just another place.

Maeglin could not help feeling that it should have been something _more._

One grew accustomed to beauty, in time. So, after a few days, Maeglin felt like he had seen it all. Perhaps he could have enjoyed it more if his mother was with him. But she was not, and there was really nothing that Maeglin could do.

He needed to feel useful again. So Maeglin made his way down to the forges.

With his work, Maeglin unexpectedly felt at peace. Smithing was something Maeglin had learned of his father. Eöl had always pushed him towards greatness, to craft bigger and better things. Maeglin had never been good enough in his eyes, but regardless he tried. It was curious, that after spending so much time to get away from his father, he was so eager to get closer to him again.

One of the local smiths soon took him under his wing, and seeing his skill for craftmanship, allowed Maeglin to help him with his designs. Maeglin’s first proper work was a dagger. The blade was curved and shone like silver, whereas the hilt was carved with runes and lined with precious stones. Maeglin was in the process of lowering the gems into place when he heard the door open, and a shadow crossed the corner of his eye.

“So here you are”, a male voice spoke. “You are a difficult person to find, Maeglin.”

Maeglin lifted his gaze and was met by a pair of bright green eyes, framed by a set of fair eyebrows. Fair was also the visitor’s hair, long and wavy like a fountain of silver.

 _Celegorm,_ Maeglin recognized him. It was strange seeing him like this, in the flesh. Maeglin knew who the sons of Fëanor were – of course he did. His mother had told him stories. Of the two trees of Valinor and the shining city of Tirion. Of the birth of the Silmarilli and the flight of the Noldor. The betrayal of Fëanor, the Grinding Ice. But just like the stories of Gondolin had turned from legends to reality, so did the sight of Celegorm.

Fool’s gold. That’s all it was.

“My lord”, Maeglin greeted. “What brings you here?”

Celegorm took a further step closer to Maeglin, observing him, _measuring_ him.

“I simply wanted to get to know you. Your mother and I used to be close.”

Maeglin frowned. He did not like Celegorm’s tone – it felt condescending. “But you are not that anymore.”

Celegorm raised his fair eyebrows, surprised – amazed, even. “A sharp tongue. At least I know where that comes from.”

Maeglin shook his head and lowered his gaze. “I need to continue working.”

He lifted his pincers and lowered another precious stone onto his dagger, trying to ignore the eyes boring onto his back. Celegorm had started circling the space now, touching whatever he got his hands on, clattering in his wake.

“Don’t”, Maeglin gritted his teeth. “You shouldn’t touch anything.”

“Truly?” Celegorm’s hand swept at a table carelessly, toppling a set of tools onto the floor with a crash. “Oh. How careless of me.”

Maeglin felt heat build in his cheeks. “I told you not to do that.”

Celegorm did not attempt to lift the tools – he simply continued his circling, whistling an annoying tune as he did so. “So, Maeglin”, he chattered, taking a break from his whistling, “tell me about yourself. Who are you, really? And do not answer ‘a smith.’ I can see that plainly enough.”

“Mother has told me not to talk to strangers.”

Celegorm chuckled dryly. “I do not understand where she got that from. It is obvious that she did not follow that advice.”

Maeglin’s cheeks grew even redder, but he said nothing, once again. He simply set another precious stone into place.

“A fine blade”, Celegorm said, suddenly so close Maeglin could feel his breath on his skin. The hairs on his neck stood upright, and he almost dropped his pincers.

“My apologies”, Celegorm continued. “I did not mean to startle. I truly meant what I said. You are a skilled craftsman. An eye for detail. For beauty.”

Maeglin lifted his pincers with shaky hands. He did not understand what he had done to deserve this torment.

“Your mother loved beautiful things as well. Tell me, how have you enjoyed Gondolin? Has anything of beauty caught your eye? Or perhaps… anyone?”

Maeglin’s blush spread all the way up to his ears.

“No”, he replied – too quickly. “And I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Celegorm clicked his tongue. “Shy, are we? Do not worry. You can trust me. Dare I make a guess? Someone extraordinary. Perhaps… Glorfindel? Or could it be that your tastes lie in a darker beauty? Ecthelion would certainly fit that description.”

Maeglin gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested in men.”

“But I was not too far with my guesses? Beauty draws you in. A fair lady, then. Someone at the forges? Or perhaps… no. A musician? A huntress, like your mother?” Celegorm gave pause, his gaze drilling ever deeper. “No? What is left, what is left… ah. A lady of the court. Perhaps someone close to king Turgon himself.”

Maeglin’s hands twitched, and with a clang, he dropped his pincers. The gem he had been holding followed, rolling onto the floor and out of his sight. Maeglin cursed.

A wide grin spread on Celegorm’s face. “It appears I was correct.”

With one swift wave of his hand, Maeglin lifted his half-finished dagger and pointed it towards Celegorm.

“You really should leave”, he hissed. His voice crackled like ice.

But Celegorm did not look alarmed. The exact opposite. He had a blade at his throat, and yet, he was smiling, even wider than before. Even his eyes shone with glee.

“There it is”, Celegorm said. “Írissë.”

Maeglin frowned. He never heard anyone use that name, save for his mother herself. Eöl sometimes caught her using it, perhaps out of old habit, and each time he would strike her in anger. It was forbidden. But now it escaped Celegorm’s lips as naturally as breath.

“Well?” Celegorm asked, tilting his chin teasingly, until it caressed the edge of the blade. A droplet of blood bloomed at its tip. “Are you going to cut me with that?”

With a shaking breath and hand, Maeglin lowered the blade back onto the table.

“I lost my temper. I am sorry.”

Celegorm rubbed his chin, wiping away the streak of blood. “Do not be. Never apologize for who you are.”

Maeglin clenched his fist. Shame tasted bitter on his tongue. He hated feeling this angry. It is not how his mother raised him. It was what his father would have done.

But Maeglin was not his father. He was nothing like him.

“It is Idril, is it not?” Celegorm said suddenly, and Maeglin froze where he stood.

“What?”

“I saw the way you looked at her, yesterday in court.” Celegorm smiled at him, almost reassuringly. “You desire her, do you not? She is very beautiful.”

Maeglin’s lips curled in disgust. “She is my _cousin.”_

“That did not stop your mother and I.”

Maeglin swallowed. He had already assumed that much – but now, hearing those words spoken, they hit him like a punch in the gut.

“You are half-cousins”, he gritted out. “It is different.”

“Blood should not stand in the way of true love.”

Maeglin’s frown deepened. Emotions curdled inside him, coiling like a snake. Disgust and hatred and confusion, all melted into one. “I don’t understand why I am telling you this. I barely know you.”

Celegorm chuckled. “People say that I have a trustworthy face.”

 _Perhaps_ , Maeglin thought. Celegorm was a difficult man to hate, although he tried to. He could see how his genuine smile and fair visage could turn the hearts of men. But whether he admired or despised him for it, he could not yet say.

“But it is not just my face”, Celegorm continued. “You may trust me, too. Your secret stays safe with me.”

“If?”

“There is no _if”,_ Celegorm shrugged. “But it would be fair to have something in return.”

“And that is?”

“All that you can tell me of your mother.” And there it was again – that light behind Celegorm’s eyes, that _hunger._ “And your father.”

Maeglin nodded. With hands that still shook, he removed his gloves, and gestured at the empty seat next to his workbench.

“Sit down”, he said. “This tale may take a while.”

*

Aredhel did not remember much of the past week.

She had slipped in an out of consciousness, from one fever dream into another. In some of them she was still in Valinor, hunting in Oromë’s woods together with Celegorm. In some, crossing the Grinding Ice, so cold that it froze her breath and the tears in her eyes. In other dreams she was in Gondolin, but younger, helping Turgon erect the walls and the towers.

And then, there was one more dream. A dream in which she left Gondolin to seek out Celegorm. But instead of finding just an empty house, Celegorm would be waiting for her there. He would invite her into his home, and there they would live together happily, year after another.

But in those dreams, she would never grow bored and wish to leave. She would never lose herself in Nan Elmoth or meet Eöl. Nor Maeglin.

For some reason that dream upset her the most.

It was that very dream that woke her up after days of half-consciousness. She pried her eyes open, sleep still lurking in their corners. Her body felt heavy as she lifted herself slowly, finding a better position on her bed.

The room around her was empty, and gold afternoon light spilled in through the curtains. A slight breeze made them flutter, and Aredhel breathed in the crispy mountain air, forgetting the dream-smells of long ago, of a warm hearth on a house in Himlad, of the salt-sweet scent of Celegorm’s hair.

Carefully, Aredhel stretched out her arms, feeling the strength creep back up into her body. She felt weak, and a throbbing pain still stung her shoulder, but the fog that had clouded her mind was gone.

Her movement must have alerted someone, for that very movement someone entered her chamber – one of the guards Turgon had posted at her room. Seeing her awake, his eyes widened in wonder, and he bent his back into a low bow.

“My lady”, he said. “I shall alert your brother of your awakening at once.”

Aredhel had no time to protest before the guard had already left. Although she loved her brother, she did not know whether she could handle the concern in his tone or the bend of his brow at that moment. He reminded her too much of mother – all rigid spine and stern frown. He even sounded like her.

She did not have to wait long for Turgon to come. But to her surprise, he was not alone. Along with him came a guest with fair hair. Someone, who Aredhel had never expected to see again.

“Írissë”, Celegorm said, almost breathless. “You… live.”

The leaf-green of his eyes met the ice in Aredhel’s own, and all of the world shrunk into the space between them.

“I… shall leave you two alone”, Turgon said stiffly. His gaze bore down onto Celegorm’s back. “If you do anything to hurt her…”

Celegorm did not even seem to hear him. He simply kept on staring. As if he had seen a ghost.

“I thought that you were dead”, Celegorm spoke after Turgon had left. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“I thought the same”, Aredhel said.

They stared at each other for a while longer. Aredhel did not know how it was possible, but it felt as if no time had passed at all. She saw the same Celegorm she had known in Valinor, the same one that she would have followed into the Void.

She sat frozen as Celegorm crossed the distance between them with three long strides, when he joined her on the bed and reached out to touch her cheek. He caressed it almost gently, as if he was afraid that a stronger touch would break her or cause her to disappear.

It was not enough. It was never enough.

So, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Celegorm gasped in surprise, mouth parting beneath Aredhel’s lips. He did not move. For a second Aredhel was afraid that he would draw back.

But he did not. Celegorm’s hands moved to her neck, pulling her closer, as he returned the kiss. It was careful at first, soft lips gliding together, bodies pressing against each other. Aredhel melted into the kiss and forgot. There was nothing in the world but this. Only this heat between them.

What started off as soft grew soon harder. Celegorm’s movements were hurried, almost frantic – one hand tightening in her hair, the other roaming against her back, making its way beneath her shirt, around her breast. His breathing came in fast, short pants, and his whole body quivered, desperate for touch. She felt his hardness against her stomach, felt the heat radiate from his skin like the sun.

“Írissë”, Celegorm breathed against her lips, again and again. “Írissë.”

“Do not speak”, Aredhel ordered. “Let me have this.”

Celegorm let out a sound – half moan, half sob. He was pliant in her hands as she laid him down on the bed and straddled him, ripping open his tunic and pressing kisses down his abdomen. Every curve, every edge was just as she had remembered, if not for a few scars that had not been there before. She recognized the scent of his arousal through his breeches, the way he twitched as she undressed him full. She remembered every grunt that escaped his mouth as she took his cock into her mouth, kissing and lapping at the shaft as she began to suckle. Celegorm was loud, he always had been, and demanding, thrusting his hips hungrily into her throat. As she worked, she took a hand into her groin, drawing out the wetness that had been budding between her legs. Before he could come, she straddled her, slowly sitting on top of his cock.

She felt hot and tight and _full_ as she rode him, pinning his arms above his head. Celegorm panted, staring at her through half-lidded eyes, gaze glazed with lust. It did not take long for him to come, which he did with a cry, digging his fingers onto her ass as he filled her with hot release. She still rocked her hips a few times, pleasuring herself with her fingers, and soon too she followed suit, losing herself into white hot pleasure.

Afterwards she collapsed next to him, breath coming fast as she listened to the sound of their shared heartbeats.

Only then did she notice that Celegorm was crying.

Aredhel did not entirely know what to say. She was not sure whether had ever seen Celegorm cry before. Not even when he was offended or hurt. Anger came easy to him. But not pain. He turned his head away, ashamed.

So, unable to come up with the words, she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him in her arms like a babe.

“I am sorry”, she whispered. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“It is not your fault.” Celegorm shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. “It is mine. It is all my fault.”

“What?”

“What happened to you. If I had returned sooner, you never would have left. You never—”

“Stop.” Aredhel tugged Celegorm’s arm, trying to squeeze some sense back to him. “It is not your fault. The fault was mine. I was young, and naïve, with no patience or caution. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Why, then?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you choose him over me?” Celegorm’s voice trembled – with anger, now, but also grief. “I could have given you _everything._ Married you. Given you a child.” He paused and drew a shaky breath. “I loved you, Írissë. I still do.”

Aredhel felt a sting in her chest. There were many things that she had expected Celegorm to say, many things that she had been prepared for – if they ever met again. But this was not one of them.

“You know I cannot love you back”, she replied quietly.

Celegorm’s green eyes flashed with hurt, with jealousy. “But you could love him?”

Another sting. An arrow strike, more like it. Her words came out with great difficulty, as if saying them pained her. “It was not love. It was… an obsession. It gave me pleasure, at first. But not for long.”

“Yet you stayed.”

“I carried his child. Whether I liked it or not, according to the laws of the Eldar, we were married. I could not leave him. I could not leave my son fatherless.”

Celegorm’s pause was longer this time, his brows curling in a thoughtful crease. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not… physically”, Aredhel said. A shudder ran through her body. “But there are other ways to die. It was Maeglin who suffered the blunt of Eöl’s rages. He could never be the son that his father wanted him to be. He had too much of me in him.”

That seemed to soothe Celegorm, somehow. “I can see that.”

Aredhel raised hew brows. “You have met him?”

“Yes. I went to his forge, a few days ago. Talked to him.”

Aredhel could only imagine how that had went. Celegorm had always been good with words, but his temper was not his virtue.

“What did you say to him?”

Celegorm grunted. “You meant if I threatened him? No. I simply wanted to get to know him. And your husband.”

Aredhel did not know if she believed him, but what else could she have said? She could not have expected Celegorm to ask her herself. He likely had not even expected her to awake.

“What did you think about him?” she asked.

“He reminds me of someone.”

“Your brother?”

“No. Not him. Curufinwë is too calculating. And cocksure.” Celegorm chuckled. “Maeglin is softer. Like Tyelperinquar.”

Aredhel thought about it. She could see the resemblance. “The two would get along, if they ever met.”

“That is what I thought, too.” Celegorm tensed at that. “Although I do not think so. Your brother and I are still not on friendly terms. He will not allow me to stay for long. And now that you are awake…”

Aredhel sobered, too. The unspoken words hung between them, and although their bodies were still warmly intertwined, a cold void suddenly seemed to have opened between them.

“I have some saying in my brother’s will, you know”, Aredhel said. “He might be my king, but he is not king of my will. I could ask him to let you stay.”

Celegorm seemed to think about it. His hold at her tightened. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her neck.

“I am glad that you came”, Aredhel confessed. “Truly. I… do not regret going to Nan Elmoth, or marrying Eöl. For if I would not have met him, Maeglin would not exist. But if there is one thing that I regret, that is leaving you.”

They laid there for a while, fingers crossed together, breathing the same air.

“I feel the same”, Celegorm whispered against her ear.

Aredhel squeezed his hand tighter. Leaned down to kiss him.

She might not be able to love him the way he needed, but for now, this was enough.

For now, she needed nothing else.

*

Aredhel looked better this time Turgon saw him. She stood at her balcony, looking at a flock of birds circling against the sunset. Turgon wondered, whether she saw herself in them. They were free to leave whenever they wanted, but could always easily return, as well.

“How are you feeling?” Turgon asked her, settling next to her.

“Tired”, she replied. “And my shoulder still aches. But it will heal.”

Turgon released a breath he had not even realized he was holding. His chest felt suddenly lighter.

“You look different”, Turgon remarked, stealing a quick glance towards Aredhel’s room. The door was still open, but no-one was there. The crumpled sheets told their own story, however. “Happier.”

“Yes”, Aredhel hummed thoughtfully. “I guess I am.”

The flock of birds fluttered through the clocktower, settling onto a red-tinged rooftop, reflecting the last rays of the sun. So bright, now, just before the darkness. All remained still, for the moment, peaceful and unchanging.

There was safety in stability, comfort. But slowly Turgon was beginning to see the beauty in change, too.

“I could allow him to stay, if you wanted”, Turgon broke the silence. “Just… until you are well.”

Aredhel smiled. She did not say anything, simply squeezed his hand. Yet, it was all the confirmation he needed.

Turgon would never love Celegorm, but he loved her sister.

And for her, he was willing to make a change.

**Author's Note:**

> Aredhel deserved better. Period.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! If you liked this, I would love a kudos or comment. ♥


End file.
